


Giants

by liziscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: At least insomuch as Prompto is capable..., Blackmail, Character Death, Espionage, Estranged friends-to-lovers, Intrigue, M/M, Mostly Prompto's POV, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Underground Fighting Ring AU, Violence, so much stuff, will they won't they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liziscribbles/pseuds/liziscribbles
Summary: [ Underground Fighting Ring AU ]Noctis Lucis Caelum and Gladiolus Amicitia have been imprisoned for three years.Prompto Argentum, a twenty-three-year-old photojournalist, was hired by Regis Lucis Caelum and Clarus Amicitia to help free them.  For Prompto, the stakes are extra high, because before Noctis went missing, they were inseparable best friends.  Plus... Prompto's skills with espionage leavemuchto be desired, and Niflheim isn't exactly the friendliest place on Eos.





	1. The City

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Morphine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800847) by [nicoleiacross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross). 



> So... we heard this rumor that Noctis was going to be in Tekken 7. Yes, that was our whole reason for this AU. What of it... >_>
> 
> This will be a start-to-finish collaboration with [nicoleiacross](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross)! She'll be writing the Gladnis side, in her own fic, and me the Promptis side as per usual!
> 
> Epic thanks, as usual, go to [nicoleiacross](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross) (of course) and [IntoThePensieve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoThePensive), as well as the FFXV Content Creator Discord for encouraging the hell out of me!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_don't call it a fight when you know it's a war,  
with nothing but your t-shirt on.  
and go sit on the bed because i know that you want to...  
you've got pretty eyes, but I know you're wrong._  
[the city](https://open.spotify.com/track/0a612uSmQ7zXV54buD9LSn) ;; the 1975

The place was just as bad as Mr. Caelum had told him it would be. The whole city was, really. Prompto's motel room was filthy. Actually, it looked like one of those places that showed up on news exposeés about horrible things happening to people, or people going missing. Not just that, but the streets that led from the Nifilian Arms Motel to the dingy back alley that housed the underground fighting arena looked like they were rampant with crime. Graffiti littered walls, covering ads for places that seemed like they'd be able to make a town a _good_ place, buildings were missing windows, and somehow, even the _air_ felt colder.

Prompto hugged his jacket a little bit tighter around himself as he looked around the entrance to the building. His camera was tucked safely between his coat and the sweater that he wore underneath, hidden safely so that no one would try and steal it. As he stood in line, he noticed a pretty obvious societal divide between himself and the other people around him. Prompto's clothes were clean, stitched together well, and obviously of Insomnian make. The people in front of him in line, as well as the ones behind him, though? They weren't quite so lucky. The man standing directly in front of him had enough holes in his shirt that it almost would have made more sense for him not to wear the shirt at all. A few spots behind him, there was a woman in a skin-tight dress that looked like she belonged on the pages of one of those girl calendars. More like a swimsuit than an actual dress.

He smelled liquor, and some pungent body odor that made him curl his lip in disgust and lift his scarf a little bit so that it covered his nose. Was he spoiled? Maybe a little bit. But he couldn't see something like this flying back at home. Not in a place like Insomnia. The people in charge of the city kept it pretty clean. Pretty safe, comparatively speaking.

The line moved forward, and Prompto took a step forward to follow it.

As the door opened, letting the couple standing two groups in front of Prompto into the building, he stepped forward to follow the line. Lifting his eyes, he glanced up at the sky. Anything but look at the people around him. Some of them stared; glared at him, almost. It made sense. He stood out like a sore thumb here. Looked more out of place than he ever remembered being before. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the woman in the skin-tight dress, leaning in and whispering to her partner—boyfriend? Husband? Prompto wasn't sure—and then pointing at him with her thumb. Instinctively, he hugged his coat a little bit tighter around himself and concealed his camera inside.

Once again, the line moved forward, and once again, Prompto followed it. One group stood between him and the door now, and he went over the protocol in his head. Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia had told him that the password to get in was 'four, six, five, three, one,' and that if he didn't remember it, he would be in trouble. Prompto, in his fear and anxiety of what would happen—of what 'trouble' meant—had written it down on the small tag on his scarf in black magic marker. One more glance down at the scarf, just to reiterate the number to himself, and he looked up at the last group of three people who stood at the door.

"Four, six, five, one, three," said the man at the head of the group.

Instantly, the two people closest to him shook their heads no. The woman told him that it was the wrong order, the other man moved his hands in a motion that clearly said that he'd gotten it wrong, and the man at the front of the group just blinked dumbly at them for a second. Before anyone had a chance to react, though, the two people with him ran away, and the third man followed. The man behind the door closed the slider for a second, and Prompto just stayed in place, blinking dumbly at everything taking place in front of him. What was going on? There was still a bit of space between him and the door, and he didn't dare step forward with the door closed like that.

It seemed like the man behind him held no such qualms, though. He huffed. "Hey! Pretty boy! You're holdin' up the line! Step forward or get out, we clear?" he asked, before delivering a harsh shove to Prompto's shoulder.

The impact sent him forward a couple of steps, a little bit closer to the door, and into the chest of a man dressed in all black, with short cropped brown hair and a five o'clock shadow. Prompto just blinked, glancing up at the man who shoved him back and then looked over his shoulder at the man behind the door. "Is this him, Axis?" the man asked, reaching his hand up and grabbing hold of Prompto's jacket, holding him in place.

"No. He ran that way," the man behind the door answered, pointing down the alleyway with his thumb. "Though you might wanna stick around. Can't imagine this one's gonna get the password right, either."

With a huff of laughter, the man with the brown hair looked down at Prompto and nodded his head a couple of times. "Yes, you're probably right about that," he mused. "He doesn't exactly have the look of our usual clientele. Go ahead, speak the password into the window." There was an expectant look on the man's face, almost like he _wanted_ Prompto to fail, as he shoved Prompto forward again, making his chest impact with the door.

Prompto felt his camera make contact with the metal, but it was padded by his coat and didn't make a sound. Small favors. One last glance at his scarf, and he cleared his throat to answer the man's command. With his eyes directly on the man through the metal slider, Prompto spoke, "four, six, five, three, one," in a clear and confident tone.

The man on the other side of the door raised an eyebrow, looking him over in surprise. Prompto wasn't sure what he was thinking, other than the fact that he looked like he was a combination of surprised that Prompto managed to get the code right, and maybe a bit disappointed. That went along with what Mr. Caelum told him, too, though. These people were vicious and angry, and that they _liked_ violence in any way shape or form. Prompto liked to think that it wasn't all Nifilians. That they weren't all like that, but the people that he'd seen on the street didn't exactly inspire confidence, either.

He was sure they were out there, just the quiet minority.

All the same, when the door opened for him and the two sets of eyes looked at him with rising suspicion, Prompto could honestly say that he was more than a little bit anxious. He held camera closer to his side with his arm, as more of a show of comfort than anything else—weird that a camera was a sign of comfort, he was sure, but he couldn't help it—and stepped into the small foyer that led to the arena.

Through the closed curtain, Prompto could clearly hear the sounds of raucous cheers and excitable chants, and the smell of booze was only three times stronger on this side of the door, but he did his best to ignore the rising sensation of anxiety. He was here for a reason. Not just for Mr. Caelum, not just because he was a photojournalist, but for himself. For his best friend. For Noctis.

When Noctis went missing a few years ago, when they were both twenty years old, Prompto had been devastated, especially considering the fact that everyone around him had been so ready to sweep it under the rug. Even Ignis had, honestly, which was all the more surprising. Gladio had gone missing right alongside Noctis, and the fact that Gladio and Ignis had always seemed like they were practically married made Prompto _endlessly_ suspicious of the 'no more questions' attitude that Ignis seemed to take on the situation. No one had answered his questions, though. Not Cor, not Mr. Amicitia, not Mr. Caelum. They all always reassured him that he needed to be kept out of the loop for 'his own safety,' because he was 'just a kid' at the time.

The fact of the matter was, though, that the lack of answers only made him all the more determined to figure out why in the hell his best friend was gone. Even in the three years since he'd last seen Noctis, everything about his best friend was fresh on Prompto's mind. He hadn't forgotten all of the times that Noctis was there for him, all the fun they'd had together, laughing and smiling and talking about whatever. How it always seemed like they'd never had a care in the world, as long as the pair of them were spending time together. There were cares. There were worries. Especially when, for some reason that Noctis could never seem to figure out, his father disappeared for weeks—for months, even, sometimes—and always came back with injuries that ranged from minor to severe. There were _definitely_ worries. But when they were together, those worries always had seemed a little bit less important.

And in three years, the way that Prompto felt—the _safety_ that he always felt—around Noctis had never faded from his mind. No matter how hard he tried to move on. That was why, when Ignis went missing a few months ago, Prompto finally resolved to keep poking at the others, keep prodding until he _finally_ got his answers.

What he got was not what he expected.

A hasty decision to turn him away, followed by a bunch of hushed, undertoned debates about whether or not 'sending him to help Ignis' was the right decision was the _last_ thing that Prompto expected. As was learning that Noctis' disappearance wasn't so much a kidnapping as it was a deal with a group of dangerous, murderous people with a grudge against Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia.

From what Prompto understood, he was dealing with a very amoral, but very legal, underground fighting ring. Prompto's understanding of the situation was that he was supposed to take pictures, to get images of the fights happening and bring them to the Nifilian Police, so that they could finally bring the fighting ring down once and for all. It sounded like a simple concept. As he stood there, though, he realized that it wasn't as simple as he expected it would be. The man at the door was still glaring at him, suspicion dripping from his expression as he looked Prompto up and down and then glanced at another man near the curtain.

Prompto looked over as the man near the door met Axis' gaze, and the pair of them exchanged a moment of silent communication. Before Prompto could react, the second man—the one by the curtain—stepped forward and raised his chin. "Lemme take your coat."

Blinking dumbly, Prompto looked down at his coat and then back up at the man. "My coat?" he asked, trying to keep the shakiness out of his tone. "I'm... I don't need to get rid of my coat. I'll... I'll keep it, thanks." His camera was in his coat, after all. And if the giant 'no cameras' sign over the curtain was any indication, keeping it hidden was the only way that Prompto would be able to get the camera inside.

"Wasn't asking permission," the man insisted, his eyes narrowing a little bit as he held his arm out. "Your coat."

 _Expect them to be very suspicious,_ Prompto remembered Mr. Caelum's warning as he glanced down at his coat and unbuttoned the large, brown buttons. His coat came off, and the chill of the room shook him to the bone. He tried not to shiver, but failed, and he immediately found himself wondering if they kept air conditioning on here, even with the chilly air outside. He didn't wonder that for long, though, because he watched as the large man by the curtain haphazardly tossed his coat into a back room. His eyes shot open. His camera was in his pocket. He'd be lucky if it wasn't broken now.

There was a protest on the tip of his tongue, but it died when he looked up at the man by the curtain. "What," the man threatened, his hand finding the curtain and pulling it back.

Prompto went silent for a second, then shook his head from side to side. "N-nothing," he insisted. "Can I go in now?"

"Can't stop you," said the man by the curtain. His eyes were narrowed as he watched Prompto step forward toward the curtain, and then kept watching even as he made his way into the arena area.

It wasn't like Prompto was unprepared for a situation like that, after all. His phone was in his pocket, ready to catch what he could. Patting his pocket to be sure, he puffed a breath through his nose when he confirmed that yes, it was there. With that confirmed, Prompto cast his eyes out around the room and could do nothing but blink. This place was a stark contrast to everything else he had seen so far. It looked like an actual, proper arena, and it was... weird.

There were rows and rows of seats that looked perfectly maintained, and maybe a little bit comfortable, actually—though most people weren't sitting in them, they were too busy looking down at the ring in the center of the room—and the floors, though sticky and reeking of beer, were pretty well-maintained. The ceilings were well-lit, and Prompto honestly wouldn't have thought that he was in the same city that he'd been in just moments ago, on the other side of the curtain and on the other side of the door to the outside. In the center, above the ring itself, was a massive screen that portrayed a closer look at the fight. A pair of combatants _desperately_ fought for some kind of upper-hand, though it looked more like a street-brawl than anything that belonged in any sort of ring that Prompto had seen on TV or anything like that.

He'd seen boxing. He'd seen other styles of fighting, too, so it wasn't like he was naive to how much contact there was. One of the combatants, though, was on top of the other and punching him mercilessly. Dozens of times. The other fighter's face looked almost like a mass of pulp, rather than a face. There was blood all over the place, and a closeup on the screen showed Prompto that the man had several teeth missing, his eye was bruised dark purple and swollen shut, and it looked like his throat was bruised, too.

Even so, he stood back up. He staggered, but went right back into the fight like he hadn't almost been beaten to death on the ground, and came back with a flourish of punches and kicks that sent his opponent reeling and stumbling back into the turnbuckle. Prompto could only stare in horror, though he had the mental capacity to look up at the screen in desperation to see if there was _any_ chance that either of these people were Noctis or Gladio. It was shameful, the relief that flooded over him when nothing about either man looked familiar. It wasn't anything to be relieved about, honestly. They were still people, and they were still being forced to fight for their lives, it seemed.

It was tempting to reach to his pocket for his phone to take a picture, but a cursory glance around him showed that the man near the curtain was standing on the other side now and watching him closely. Prompto looked around him for an open seat that wasn't surrounded by a bunch of screaming and angry drunks, but when he didn't see one, he took a couple of steps forward, closer to the ring and further into the eager and shouting cheers. The cheers for 'Furia' greatly outnumbered the few and far between that he heard for 'Fortis,' and he could only assume those to be the names of the fighters.

Prompto finally found an aisle seat, and he stepped into the aisle, in hopes of getting off the radar of the man near the door. It wasn't likely to work, he figured, but it was worth a shot. A glance over his shoulder showed that he was still being watched and confirmed his concerns. They had their eye on him. It was likely that they'd found his camera by now, too.

Turning his eyes back to the fight, Prompto opted to wait for some kind of opening. His end goal was to get back into the locker room, to talk to the fighters and see if he could find Noctis or Gladio or Ignis or _anyone_ familiar. He knew that Ignis wasn't a fighter. From what Mr. Armaugh had said, Ignis was sent to care for the fighters. It made sense. Prompto remembered him having his medical license, even before all of this trouble with Gladio and Noctis going missing came to light. Even if he didn't find Gladio and Noctis, finding Ignis was just as important, because he had a message written for his old friend, folded in his pocket.

_I'm here to help._

That was all the message said. Ignis had Prompto's number, though, so he could contact Prompto from there and they could figure things out. With Ignis working here for as long as he had, he had to have some kind of info to give Prompto. Where Noctis was, if he was okay—a worry that was growing all the stronger, the more he watched of this fight as it unfolded—if he was even _alive_ still.

It was impossible to fight off the feeling of dread that jumped up from the pit of Prompto's stomach as he even _entertained_ the idea of Noctis not being alive anymore. No. He had to be alive. He was tough, he was fast, and he could hold his own in a fight. Not that he ever really had to _fight_ back in Insomnia. Still, Prompto forced himself to hold onto hope that the time he spent here had made him a better fighter. Made him _into_ someone who could hold his own in a place like this. Even as he thought that, his eyes scanned the area for some kind of indication of where the locker room was.

Except, just as he neared the far corner of the arena, a loud screaming cheer overtook the room. Chants of "FU-RI-A, FU-RI-A" echoed throughout the room, and snapped Prompto to attention as he looked back down at the arena. The man who had been on the ground before, suffering a flurry of punches from their opponent, was standing, albeit wobbly, and having his arm raised by the referee. A few feet away, the opponent, Fortis, lay in a heap on the ground. Not moving, not... not breathing. He wasn't breathing. Prompto stared dumbly, shocked to his very core at the sight, and then looked around the arena for a sign of anyone coming to help.

There was no one. No one was going to help the man who was obviously unconscious—possibly _dead_ , even—on the ground.

Before he could think too long about that, though, the second fighter, Furia, teetered on his feet. More than he had been before. His arm dropped to his side when the referee dropped it, and then he stumbled, and fell face first to the mat. Prompto didn't claim to know anything about medical stuff, but... he'd never seen anyone fall like that before. It looked bad. Really bad. Especially since Furia still wasn't moving. He wasn't making any motion to show that he was alive, and as Prompto's eyes turned up to the screen over his head, he panicked when he realized that either Furia was in really bad shape... or he was dead, too.

Either way, it wasn't something that Prompto could easily turn a blind eye to. He turned his head back toward the curtain, surprised when he saw that the man who had been watching him like a hawk now had his attention somewhere else. More specifically, on a radio in his hand. A part of Prompto was curious about that conversation, but the rest of him realized that it wasn't even close to as important as what was going on with the fighters in the ring. And the fact that the man watching him was distracted? Well, that was a chance.

Prompto slid out into the aisle and rushed down it, periodically looking over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn't being followed. When he turned the corner at the front of the row, he looked back one last time and saw that the doorman was _just now_ starting to look for him. Good. He'd gotten away, at least somewhat. He slipped in between rows of seats, though they were still crowded with people who didn't have a place to sit but still wanted to see the fight. Bodies were being shoved around, and Prompto was pretty sure that he almost got hit with wayward booze at least twice, but he managed to avoid it somehow. When he emerged on the other end of the row, he spotted a small path that led... somewhere. He didn't know if it was a locker room or anything, but it was somewhere that wasn't here, and somewhere that maybe he could escape the doorman.

Still, he didn't run for it right away. Instead, he slid his phone from his coat pocket, opening his camera and snapping a couple of pictures of what was happening in the ring. A pair of stretchers were being pulled up past the elastic cords, and the bodies were being loaded onto them. There was still no movement, and now that Prompto was closer, he could tell that neither of the fighters was breathing. Red smears streaked the floor of the ring, and Prompto caught it all on his phone. A short video, documenting the haphazard way that the two groups of medics loaded the fighters onto the stretchers, and the way that the referee seemed to be passing it off as normal.

How could this be considered normal?

Someone might have been dead. Someone was at _least_ hurt to the point that they passed out and stopped breathing. And now, people were treating that like it was normal. Like it was okay. Like it was _just another thing that happened_. Prompto wanted to scream at everyone; wanted to tell them how wrong this was. He wanted to insist that someone _do_ something. Two things kept him from doing it. The first thing was the fact that he was supposed to keep from making a scene. He was supposed to fly under the radar and stay unknown for the most part. Second, was the fact that he would never find Noctis again, he would never be able to help Noctis get out of here, if he got caught and got himself killed.

Prompto snapped a few pictures of the blood smear in the ring, and then quickly put his phone back in his pocket. Casting his eyes around once more, he saw another few people with outfits that matched the doorman, scouring the crowd. Quickly, Prompto darted down the stairs and toward the door to the back area. The medics were headed that way with the stretchers, so maybe if he was quick enough, maybe if he was clever enough, he could sneak back there.

It was a matter of jumping a blockade and hiding himself in the shadows under a small alcove, and it made Prompto feel like some sort of movie spy or something, but he ignored that for now and watched—his breath held so that no one chanced to hear him—as the medics pulled the stretchers into the back area. The door swung slowly, making that strange, low, hissing sound that doors like that were known to make, and Prompto took the chance. He wedged his boot into the door before it could close fully, tugged on the heavy—really heavy—metal door, and squeezed through it.

Even back here, he could still hear the chants of "FU-RI-A, FU-RI-A!" and it made him wonder if the crowd was even aware that their precious fighter might have been dead. That he might have killed the other man. Swallowing back nerves, Prompto heard a slight commotion down the hall, and then looked around frantically, rethinking his plan for the first time.

What was he going to do now that he was back here? It wasn't like he could hide. This hallway was a long straightaway, and there weren't even any little nooks or alcoves for him to hide in, so what was he supposed to do? Footsteps echoed from the other side of the hallway, where it finally turned a corner, and Prompto's heart hammered like a rapid drumbeat in his chest. Once, twice, three times, he darted his eyes around for _somewhere_ to hide. There were doors on either side of the hall, and Prompto dashed the few steps that separated him from the first door, quickly pushing his way in. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.

More surprisingly was the fact that he found himself in a locker room. The room was crude, the lockers rusty and the floors covered in mildew, the odor of which permeated the whole area. Now, Prompto realized, it was starting to look like the rest of the city again. There was no way this was safe. It was also mostly empty, which was weird. Prompto's ears caught the sound of a couple of lockers slamming nearby, and that made him duck into the shadows, squeezing himself between the end of the line of lockers and the wall. It was dusty back here, and some of the dust tickled Prompto's nose, but he did everything in his power—which, at the moment, consisted of holding his finger horizontally under his nose—to keep from sneezing.

Voices echoed, a pair of men laughing. Neither voice sounded familiar in the least. Their accents were Lucian, though. Lucians, stuck here. There were a lot of Lucians stuck here, that was what Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia told him. Led here under false pretenses, forced to sign contracts, told that they could be free if they ever managed to accomplish a goal that was more or less impossible. That was the gist of what he'd been told. It was seeming truer and truer as time went on.

"Hey," one of the two men told the other as they passed. "You hear that Furia killed Petra? I always thought that Petra'd be the least likely of us to end up like that."

The second man hummed an answer—Prompto couldn't tell from where he stood if it was an agreement or a disagreement—and then said, "I mean, when you think of it, we're all as likely as anyone else. One bad night, and even Caelum and Amicitia can go down," nonchalantly, like he hadn't just answered all of Prompto's prayers at once.

Noctis was here. Gladio was here. Not that he doubted it for a second—that was what he'd been told, why he'd been sent here in the first place—but hearing it from someone else had his stomach rolling over and over inside of him. They were here. Were they here right now? There had been no information about any other fights that night, prior or later, so Prompto didn't know if he'd come here on a bad day or _something_. Even if he had, even if it was the wrong day to see Noctis or Gladio, Prompto had still gotten some pictures of the place, and he had a pretty good idea of exactly _how_ bad things were here.

Now, it was almost completely silent in the locker room. Prompto made a soft noise—one that he himself could barely hear—and then jerked his body to the side in a desperate attempt to unwedge himself from between the line of lockers and the wall. In doing so, though, he sent himself flying out of the tightly enclosed space much faster than he intended, tripped over his feet, and impacted on the cement floor with his shoulder. He couldn't keep from letting out a sharp hiss of noise at the pain and surprise of impact, before quickly picking himself up from the ground. At the sound of footsteps coming from the other end of the lockers, he quickly hid himself again.

That was when he heard it, though. In the almost-completely-empty locker room, a voice rang out around him. A familiar voice. One that, for a long time, Prompto had resigned himself to never hearing again.

"Pel? Lib? Was that you? Everyone alright over here?" Noctis' voice called out. A few beats of silence, where Prompto stood frozen with his back against the locker, and Noctis continued speaking. "I thought I heard someone fall. I know you give me crap for being clumsy all the time, but that doesn't mean you get to run and hide when _you_ get clumsy."

Prompto should have revealed himself then. At the sound of the familiar voice, the one that made his heart hammer faster, he should have shown himself to Noctis, because at the very least, it would have prevented him from being right in front of the closed door to the locker room. If it opened, it would have revealed him to anyone on the other side. Hearing that familiar voice, though, froze him in place. It was Noctis. Equal to the part of him that wanted to see his friend's face again—the part that wanted it more than anything in the whole _world_ , actually—was a part that was completely frozen with fear. Maybe it wasn't Noctis. Maybe it was someone who sounded just like him. What if revealing himself like that was a mistake?

Before he could convince himself one way or another, a set of footsteps walked back down to the other end of the lockers, and then around the corner. Prompto heard the footsteps from the other side of him now, and then they stopped.

Leaning over just slightly, Prompto glanced out from the opposite side of the lockers, and then completely froze when he caught sight of the person who sounded like an older version of his best friend. It _was_ Noctis. It... it was. He still looked the same, but he looked older. Less lanky, less scrawny, more toned... but other than that, he was exactly the way that Prompto remembered him. Black hair falling in a familiar style, down around his face. Pale skin, blue eyes. Dressed all in black, and looking more miserable than Prompto remembered him. Prompto stared for a few seconds as Noctis wrapped medical tape around his hands, blinking dumbly at the sad curve of his lips.

Several times—hundreds of times, if he was being honest with himself—Prompto imagined what would happen if he was ever lucky enough to be face to face with Noctis again. Prompto would run up, hug him, squeeze him and tell him how miserable things had been without him; how lonely Prompto was. He'd promise to protect him, to get him the hell home. He'd do _anything_ , _say_ anything other than standing with his back against a column of lockers and staring at him like he was some kind of spy or tabloid reporter or something. Watching the sadness in his eyes, the misery and desperation on his face, as he prepared for a fight he probably didn't even want to participate in.

Astrals, of _course_ he was sad, being in a place like this.

Before Prompto was even aware of what was happening, Noctis looked up. For the briefest of seconds, their eyes met. Not even a second, honestly, because the second those gray-blue eyes were on him, he darted back behind the lockers and internally cursed himself out. He'd been entranced or something, and now Noctis knew that he was here. It was too late to run. It wasn't even safe to, anyway. So, what was he supposed to do? Run back over to that corner, hide away, and act like he hadn't been there? Noctis would see him. Noctis wasn't stupid.

While he stood there, wracking his brain, he didn't even hear Noctis' footsteps approaching. Before he could even react, Noctis' full body was standing less than a foot to his right.

"Who the hell are-" Noctis was about to curse him out, he was sure. Or something. To yell at him, ask him how in the hell he got back here, something like that. _Anything_ would have been preferable to the way he completely cut off mid-sentence, and was staring at Prompto with wide eyes and a slightly slack jaw. "P-Prompto?" he breathed.

Words would have been the right way to go. Anything would have been better than the course of action that Prompto chose, though. Noctis. It was _Noctis_. The person that he always begged the Astrals to bring back to him every night. The person that had spent three years missing, the person that he _desperately_ wished to be around again. So, yeah, Prompto was a little bit emotional. That was what took the wheel when Prompto threw himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Noctis' neck and hugging him like he would disappear at any second.

Burying his face in Noctis' shoulder, Prompto muttered, "Noct... Noct, I've missed you s-so much..."

Not exactly something that someone who was sent to spy and rescue was _supposed_ to do, probably. Prompto couldn't help it, though. Emotions overwhelmed logic and turned him into a complete and total mess of tears and desperate happiness. Noctis was alive. Noctis was _okay_. That, honestly, was enough for Prompto at that exact moment.


	2. Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to go poke at my collaborator's, [nicoleiacross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross)' fic, [Morphine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800847/chapters/29217699), so you're getting the whole story! We're workin' together on this, after all!

_if you thought i'd leave, then you were wrong,_  
cause i won't stop holding on.  
this is an emergency, so are you listening?  
and i can't pretend that i don't see this...  
[emergency](https://open.spotify.com/track/3i4xZSH1kTLE22TUvUFMYo) ;; paramore

"Prompto..."

Noctis' voice was shaky, even as he embraced Prompto in return. The embrace was tentative, gentle, uncertain, like he didn't know how much he could trust his own eyes, his own ears, his own senses in general. Even with the tentativeness of the touch, though, it was warm. Familiar. Exactly the way that Prompto remembered it. Stupid, maybe, to say that a touch felt like home, but that seemed like the most accurate way to say it.

In fact, it felt so much like home that when Noctis pushed out of the embrace, Prompto felt himself desperately clinging to his long-lost friend's arms and shaking his head no. Pathetic, a little bit. He couldn't help it, though. Now that the embrace was over, though, the pair of them still stood close, holding onto each other's forearms and blinking stupidly at each other. This was not how Prompto expected a situation like this to go, truthfully. So many times since Noctis had disappeared, he'd imagined what he'd do, what he'd _say_ , if they ever found their way back to one another again. So many times, he'd planned it out.

Prompto would comment on how long it had been and how much he missed Noctis. That much had happened, sure, but in his mind, it always went without tears and without a desperately clinging hug. Without a whimpering and shaky voice that made him sound like a complete and total loser. In his mind, Noctis would always say something cool and suave. Tell Prompto how similar he looked. Which, okay, he did. In a lot of ways, Prompto looked the same. He'd put on a little bit of muscle and lost a little bit more of that excess fat that had plagued him since childhood. Aside from that, he looked more or less the same, though. Prompto would tell Noctis about his photojournalism job. Noctis would tell Prompto everything that had happened and why he'd been missing for so long. Noctis hadn't said any of that, though. _Prompto_ hadn't said any of it, either. Actually... other than calling his name, Noctis hadn't said _anything_.

With his eyes locked on those familiar gray-blue eyes—different, though, in that they were lined with bags from sleep deprivation, and tired, and the left one was sporting a bruise that looked like it was still healing—all of those questions and all of that conversation felt less important. Almost completely _un_ important, honestly.

Still, he had to say something. Gathering his brain from the floor or from the pit of his stomach, or from wherever it was, he managed a weak but nervous smile at Noctis. "You look good."

Not exactly what he wanted to say. He _wanted_ to say how happy he was to see that Noctis was alive, but alive and safe were two different things, and he'd have to be stupid not to see that Noctis was the former... but not the latter. "Like, really good. You've gotten a little bit buffer, and you look like you're-"

"Prompto..."

"-filling out a little bit. Not that you were lanky before or anything. You totally weren't..."

"Prompto."

"You just look like you're finally growing into yourself. Maybe a little bit bruised, but that'll be okay, you know? Once we get you out of here and back to-"

This time, Noctis' voice was a little bit sharper. "Prompto!" He stepped back, dropping his arms from Prompto's and letting them hit his sides, sadness in his expression as he shook his head. "I don't know how you got here, Prompto. I don't know who sent you here, or why they thought it was a good or safe idea for you to be in a place like this—hell, in a _city_ like this, even—but you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be in Niflheim, and you _definitely_ shouldn't be here..." he insisted.

It was easy for Prompto—someone who had known Noctis since high school, and knew his hopes and dreams, what made him tick, what made him happy and sad and where he wanted his life to go—to see the divide in what he was saying and what he meant. He was saying that Prompto shouldn't be here. He was saying that Prompto should leave. That didn't mean that he _wanted_ Prompto to leave. The black eye and the bruises on his arms and scars on his face—two; they were faded but Prompto could clearly see them—told Prompto that more than any actions or words or _anything_ could have.

Because of that, Prompto allowed himself to say, "maybe not." He shrugged his shoulders, but didn't budge. "But I am."

"No. No, you _can't_ be, Prompto. You don't understand, okay?" Noctis shook his head and clenched his jaw. "I'm not just saying 'you shouldn't be here' like I was when we shouldn't have been on the roof of the school after hours, or any of the other times we were places we shouldn't be. It's not just an 'oh, we might get arrested' you shouldn't be here. Do you... do you even realize the kind of people we're dealing with, dude?"

In a flash, Prompto thought back to the fight. Turning his head to the floor, he thought back to what had happened out in the arena and to how the people in the stands had been perfectly content to just cheer when someone was dying, or dead, or at least unconscious. "Not good ones," Prompto agreed, biting down on his lower lip nervously as he raised his head again to glance at Noctis.

Laughing bitterly, Noctis nodded his agreement. "Yeah, you're not kidding," he agreed. "You can't be here, Prompto. If they see you back here... Y-you should just go back to Insomnia, and be safe."

Prompto didn't care, honestly. He couldn't stop himself from launching forward and wrapping his arms around Noctis' neck again. "Don't care," he murmured pathetically. "Like, not even a little, okay? I missed you. I... I missed you so much, Noct. I can't, okay? I'm not going to." Leave. That was what he was going to say. He wasn't going to leave until he could bring Noctis with him.

There was a vague crumbling in Noctis' resolve, and Prompto could almost physically feel it. At first, Noctis didn't reciprocate the hug this time, and Prompto heard him let out a heavy sigh. The air Noctis let out ruffled Prompto's hair a little bit, and the breath tickled his ear. After a few seconds without moving, though, Noctis reached his arms up and wrapped them around Prompto's middle. Inhaling a shaky breath, he finally responded in kind to Prompto's declaration.

"I missed you, too..." Noctis answered, leaning his head forward against Prompto's shoulder. "You don't even know how much."

Except, Prompto was pretty sure he had some sort of idea. He didn't go a day without thinking of Noctis. He missed Noctis so much that it made his heart ache, even after three years. _Even after three years_ , he hadn't allowed himself to move on, to find another best friend, to forget everything that Noctis had been in his life. So, yeah. He was pretty sure that he had a good idea.

Laughing a breath against Noctis' shoulder, Prompto shook his head no. "I know how much, Noct. I was trying to go on without you, too, remember?" he insisted. Trying. But not succeeding.

"That doesn't change that you shouldn't be here, though," Noctis insisted. "That you should be back in Insomnia, and-"

Prompto shook his head no. "Can't," he mumbled, still not lifting his head from Noctis' shoulder. "Can't leave." Not without Noctis. Not only because Mr. Caelum had sent him, though that was a part of it. More because he just _couldn't_ leave without Noctis. Couldn't and wouldn't.

Pulling his head up from Noctis' shoulder, he raked his teeth over his lip and shook his head no. "I can't. Okay?" Well, whether it was okay or not, it didn't matter.

At first, Noctis didn't say anything. He simply stared at Prompto for a couple of seconds. Prompto recognized that face. Part of it was him trying to assess Prompto's expression. He was trying to catch the little intricacies of his face, things that he'd recognize a lot faster than anyone else in the world would, because he knew Prompto better than anyone else did. There was something else in there, too, though. A softness that told Prompto that, as much as he knew, as sure as he was, that this wasn't a good place for Prompto? He didn't really want Prompto to go.

The tiniest smile curved one side of his lips up, and it made Prompto smile in return. That was the look of his resolve breaking. Prompto could see it. Sometimes, it was a little bit scary how well they knew each other. Even after three years apart, even after not seeing each other for _so long_ , they still knew each other. Noctis still remembered things about him, and Prompto _definitely_ still remembered things about Noctis. The things he didn't remember, though, he committed to memory now. The new things. The scars. The fact that he'd filled out as much as he had. How good he looked.

As though Noctis was reading his mind, he smiled a sad smile and placed a hand on Prompto's bicep. "You look good, too, by the way," he answered, his voice soft. It sounded like there was more he wanted to say. A lot more. He wasn't, though.

"Thanks," Prompto answered.

It was awkward. Prompto didn't want it to be awkward, but it was awkward. Not because of Noctis. Prompto didn't think he could ever be awkward around Noctis, honestly. Well, okay, that wasn't exactly true. Back when they'd first met in high school, he'd been plenty awkward. Plenty unsure of how to process things and how to deal with the fact that he wanted to push past his anxiety and have Noctis in his life. The very second he'd pushed past it, though, the second that the pair of them got close, it was like none of that mattered even a little bit. Like there had never been any reason to be awkward, to begin with.

This awkwardness was heavier. Thicker. The awkwardness that came with the fear of not knowing what to say here. Not knowing what was safe or what it was okay to say, or what would get them both killed on the spot. Actually, now that his mind was catching up with the rest of him, a vague memory of something that Cor told him sprang up to his mind.

_"There are listening devices everywhere in Niflheim. Never assume that you're safe. Not without making a sweep of the area that you're in," Cor had said as he handed Prompto several files of information, as well as an odd device with a red flashing light on it. "Your motel room. You'll definitely want to sweep that. Use this. It will detect any listening devices in your motel room, and anywhere else that you feel that you may be in danger."_

Prompto suddenly wished that he had it with him, but he didn't. Breathing a soft note through puffed cheeks, he looked up at Noctis. As much as he knew he should have cared about that... he didn't. He didn't care, and he knew that it was bad. He knew that it was _really_ bad not to care, but he couldn't help it. Noctis' eyes turned sadder again. He lowered his arms, and then backed up to sit down on the dirty bench in front of the line of rusty lockers, back where he'd been before. Prompto watched him with desperate eyes. Every day for the past three years, he'd been dreaming of this moment. Now that it was happening... it was nothing like what he thought it would be.

Reality was always harsher than fantasy. Prompto followed Noctis, and then sat next to him on the dirty bench. "Listen. I probably... I shouldn't say anything right now. I know I shouldn't. But I can't help it. I'm here, okay? I'm here for... for a reason, and you aren't going to get rid of me." It was all he could say, and probably more than he should have.

Noctis turned his head and cast Prompto a sidelong glance. "Not even if I told you that it's pointless? That there's... there's no way?" he asked.

Of _course_ he'd caught on to what Prompto was trying to say. Prompto had never been too good at subtlety. Still, the words he was saying... no way. Pointless. It didn't sound like the Noctis he remembered. The Noctis he'd always stood beside and the Noctis that he'd come here, naively hoping to find.

Instead of saying that, though, Prompto shook his head no. "Nope," he answered instead. "Because you're wrong."

"Always were the dreamer between us," Noctis mused, managing the weakest of smiles as he met Prompto's eye. "Guess that's why I needed you so much." He paused, huffing a breath of laughter, and then amended his statement. "need, actually." He glanced back down at the floor, folding his hands in his lap.

Prompto eyed his hands where they folded, at the horrible scarring on his knuckles. Three years here? Yeah, that made sense, as much as it sucked. His eyes trailed up Noctis' bruised and battered arm, to where a couple of bruises and scars faded underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, and then to his neck, where some bruises still lingered.

In a quiet tone, Noctis added, "now more than ever, honestly. Probably the only reason I couldn't stick to my guns and make you leave."

With a bitter chuckle, Prompto shrugged. "I mean, you couldn't if you tried." Not just because Mr. Caelum sent him. Not just because he wanted to get Noctis and Gladio the hell out of here. That was a major part of it. Of course it was. There was more, though. Wherever Noctis was, there was nowhere else that Prompto ever wanted to be. Nowhere else. They'd have to physically drag him away.

The smile on Noctis' face was bittersweet, as he reached over and placed a hand on Prompto's forearm. "Probably could, actually, but... I appreciate what you're trying to say. Man, the Big Guy's gonna flip when he finds out you're here. Maybe not even in a good way, actually." His other hand smoothed through his hair, pushing it back from his face. It had gotten a little bit longer. Not three years longer or anything, but it was obvious that he didn't cut it as often as he used to.

Shrugging, Prompto half-smiled. "That's okay. I'm here, and I'm not goin' anywhere." Not until he finished what he was here to do.

Noctis just sighed. "Prompto, I-"

As much as Prompto wished that he knew how Noctis was going to end that sentence, he never got the chance to find out. The sound of the door creaking open had both of them shooting their eyes open and sitting up in a panic. Footsteps moved tauntingly slowly on the other side of the lockers—one set of feet, plus a cane? Prompto wasn't sure what the third clicking was, and he didn't really want to know—and before Prompto could react, Noctis was directing him to hide behind a line of lockers.

"Get out. I'll keep him busy while you get out," Noctis whispered.

Prompto wasn't sure if this was safe, if he was actually going to be able to get out without being caught, but Noctis' desperation was enough to make him listen. He stood, watching as Noctis stood and jogged toward the line of lockers where the footsteps were located. Quickly, he moved to where Noctis had directed him. Two lines of lockers separated him from whatever was happening now, but he could still hear the conversation in echoes throughout the locker room, which made him wonder if Noctis' whispers had been audible, too.

The voice that didn't belong to Noctis huffed, annoyed, and said, "you realize that in dragging your heels like this, you inch closer and closer to forfeiting your match, Caelum? I would _so_ hate to see what the crowd would think of you _next_ time, if that happened." The tone of the man's voice said that he wouldn't hate it at all, actually. That he was almost amused by the situation.

Maybe that should have made Prompto move faster, but the defeated tone with which Noctis responded, "yes sir, sorry about that. Let's-"

"Hold a moment, will you? You'll be facing Tummelt this time. I presume you know what the rule is." The man started walking, and this time, Prompto heard two sets of footsteps making their way across the floor along with the cane. Was he guiding Noctis along with him this time?

Prompto pressed his back against the edge of the lockers, trying desperately not to make any sort of noise, but pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up the voice recorder. He only wished that he'd thought to do it sooner, but it was too late for that. Holding his breath, he turned his head toward the edge of the line of lockers and listened closely to the conversation.

Noctis answered, "I should make it interesting. Right?"

With a belly chuckle, the man nodded and Prompto could hear the muffled contact of a hand clapping a clothed shoulder. "Smart boy. Win or lose, I would hate for the title match to end so soon. You've a week to rest until your next title match. I'm certain that a few bruises shan't be too much of a bother," he cooed. "And even if it is, well. A week's recovery is plenty of time. Come now, dear boy. We can't keep the crowd waiting for too much longer."

The door swung open, and Prompto heard the chants. They'd warped, turned from Furia to Tummelt now, and there were some cheers, hoots, and hollers filling the space around them as the door swung and clicked closed. The locker room was empty now, aside from him, so Prompto moved away from the locker and eyed his phone. A part of him was tempted to replay the message, but he didn't. He didn't want to waste the effort that Noctis had put into helping him escape, and besides... a horribly morbid piece of him was worried about this fight that Noctis was being forced into, against whoever this Tummelt was.

Sliding his phone into his pocket and opting to listen to the audio back when he was safe—or, relatively safe, he guessed—in his motel room, he dashed back out into the hallway. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Noctis rounding a corner with the man who Prompto could only assume to be the owner of this place. He was tall. A head and a half taller than Noctis. He had purplish-red hair, and wore about half a dozen coats. In his hand stood a decorative ivory cane, trimmed with gold. The clicking cane from the locker room. Prompto stood frozen for a moment, watching them retreat and watching Noctis glance over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.

His expression said plenty, as did the way he tilted his head toward the door. He wanted Prompto to get out. And of course he did. Prompto frowned and pulled in a deep breath, before pushing on the heavy door and making his way back to the shadows. Back over the barricade he went, and back into the stands.

Honestly, he probably should have left. Being here when Noctis fought someone _probably_ wasn't something he needed to see. Still, the morbid and torturous side of his brain kind of wanted to. Or, maybe wanted was the wrong word. He didn't want to see it at all. Needed to? He needed to see that Noctis was capable. He needed to film it, to bring it to the police. He needed to... he needed to _do_ something, was what he needed to do, but what could he really _do_ from here?

Just as he made it back to the place he'd been standing when he discovered the barricade to the locker room and the "backstage" area, the referee and announcer stepped back into the ring again. The announcer grabbed hold of the microphone, and in that stereotypical announcer voice, Prompto heard him say, "all right, guys and gals! You've been waiting patiently! Are you ready for tonight's title bout?"

The cheering was expected. Of course, Prompto expected responding cheers. What he _didn't_ expect was for them to practically deafen him, to the point that he reached up and covered his ears and could _still_ hear them like his ears hadn't been covered at all. He cringed, listening as all of the 'Furia' cheering squad turned to 'Tummelt' instead. So... Noctis wasn't a popular fighter? Was that what Prompto was gathering here? He frowned, and then turned down to look at the ring. Spotting Noctis on one side, near another door that probably led to the back, Prompto frowned again. On the other side, stood a man about Noctis' size—in his weight class, probably? Prompto didn't really understand much about how this worked, really—with blond hair and just as many bruises and scars as Noctis had.

"In this corner, we have the nastiness from Niflheim! The underdog! Your favorite and mine! Weighing in at 144 pounds and standing at five-foot-seven give it up for Loqi Tummelt!"

The cheers exploded as the blond man rushed up into the ring. If he was supposed to be putting on some kind of show? Prompto wasn't sure what it was supposed to be. The favorite. That was what the announcer said. If he was the favorite, it didn't seem like he enjoyed it much. Quite the contrary, actually. He looked out at the crowd with a glare in his eyes, deflecting their praise and cheers with a roll of his eyes as he looked over to the other side of the ring.

"And in _this_ corner, we have the lossless-but-loathed from Lucis!" The announcer's enthusiasm was a mockery this time, and the crowd groaned and booed in response. "Eighty wins and zero losses, weighing in at 151 pounds and standing at five-foot-nine, let's hear it for Noctis Caelum!"

While this Tummelt character earned endless cheers, excitement, and approval, Prompto was utterly shocked by the boos that erupted around him as soon as the announcer said Noctis' name. Eighty wins, and the announcer announced him as a Lucian. Most Nifilians hated Lucians, that much Prompto knew, so it made sense. A little bit of sense, anyway, but Prompto didn't like it.

Even less when he saw someone in the crowd throw a half-empty beer bottle toward the ring. Prompto's eyes shot open wide as the bottle crashed into the side of the ring and burst into an explosion of beer and glass, some of it going up and into the ring. Much to his surprise, no one rushed to detain the man. He wasn't pulled from his seat, wasn't reprimanded at all... and it didn't look like he was _going_ to be, either.

Prompto glared at the man and took a couple of steps forward. "Hey! You could've hit the fighters with that and-"

Words died on his lips when the man turned his full attention toward Prompto, standing tall and imposing and narrowing his eyes down small. He looked furious, and Prompto realized that it was probably trouble. Still, he didn't want to stand down and let this guy, whoever he was, think that it was _okay_ to possibly injure someone who was already pretty much forced to let himself be injured just for people's entertainment. So, as much as he wanted to, Prompto didn't stand back.

At least, not at first. When a second man joined the first, and spoke in a gravelly voice, insisting to Prompto that, "who gives two shits what happens to the Lucian?" Prompto couldn't help but cower a little bit. "You ask me, he needs to be taken down a peg. Maybe Tummelt stands a chance then."

Even though Prompto balked, he didn't completely back away. He turned to look at Noctis, who was approaching the center of the room like he hadn't even noticed the beer bottle. How, though? It had happened close enough to him... he _had_ to have heard it. Unless he was just... desensitized to it somehow. Unless... it had happened to him so many times that he just didn't notice anymore. Somehow, to Prompto, that felt sadder. That felt sadder than watching him startle, than watching him jump when the crashing of glass happened so damn close to him.

The man closest to Prompto placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved him gently back out into the aisle. "Mind your business, pretty boy. You're gonna make me miss the fight."

All Prompto did at first was stare. He watched the two men turn their attention back to the ring and ignore him—which, honestly, was preferable to the alternative—then turned his own attention back down toward the fight. It probably wasn't smart for him to be here. It probably wasn't smart for him to see this. As he watched Noctis go into fighting stance—with his fists raised up defensively by his face and his feet squared off—his heart jumped into his throat. He _really_ didn't want to see this. The other guy, Tummelt, stood in a completely different stance. His hands were open, and his legs were spread a little bit differently, and it made Prompto wish that he knew the first thing about any of this.

Truthfully, the more he looked at the other fighter, at Tummelt, the more Prompto felt an odd sense of familiarity toward him. Prompto was pretty sure that he didn't know, but there was a weird feeling in his gut and in the way that Tummelt looked like _he_ didn't really want to be here either, that told Prompto... Prompto didn't even know _what_ it told him, honestly. What he _did_ know was that Noctis had to fight. That was his main concern. Noctis was being forced to fight, for the entertainment of people who didn't even like him. For people who seemed to _want_ him to lose.

Memory served him enough to let him know that Gladio had taught Noctis kickboxing growing up, as well as swordsmanship, but honestly, Prompto was endlessly glad that they weren't using swords here. He didn't know if he could take that. The bell rang, the fight started, and it was almost like something out of a nightmare.

Not because Noctis did poorly. The opposite of that, honestly. Noctis was fast and smart and when his hits _did_ connect, they _really_ connected. He watched as Tummelt recoiled a few times, when a flourish from Noctis sent him back into the elastic cord. He came back with an equally quick flourish of jabbing punches to Noctis' face, stomach, and shoulders, some kicks to his legs and midsection, and then a final kick to his hip that sent him down to the ground. Finally, awareness of the crowd came back when the cheers multiplied by almost triple, the second that Noctis hit the mat.

He got back up, though, and Prompto watched in horror as he stumbled a little bit. He was bleeding from his cheek, and one knee looked like it was making him miserable, but he still went back into fighting stance, delivering another series of blows which Tummelt quickly blocked and then responded with a jab to Noctis' face that made him stumble again.

Gods, why was Prompto watching this? Why was he still here? Why couldn't he _move_?

It seemed to go on forever, and Prompto found himself thinking back to what the man had told Noctis to do. _Win or lose, I would hate for the title match to end too quickly._ Was Noctis letting Tummelt hit him on purpose? Putting on some kind of show for these people who were so okay with throwing damned _beer bottles_ at him, and jeering him every time they saw his face? The man had also told Noctis that the crowds hated him. The loathed. That was what the announcer had said. Suddenly, Prompto found himself worried about whether that hatred, that dislike, went past the fighting ring. The city didn't seem forgiving. He couldn't imagine it being easy to live in a place like this.

"Kill 'im, Tummelt!" the man who'd thrown the beer bottle shouted. "Fuck 'im up!"

The man next to him, the one who had jumped in and defended the first one, cheered when a particularly harsh punch sent Noctis into the turnbuckle, and laughed when Noctis took a couple of seconds to shake it off. "That's right! Your streak's _over_ , Caelum! Maybe your _life_!"

Prompto narrowed his eyes, took a couple of steps closer to the ring in a desperate attempt to block those two out, and then tried to conjure up all of his confidence. When he did, he shouted, "c'mon, Noct! You can do this!" with his hands around his mouth.

No, it wasn't likely that Noctis heard it. In fact, Prompto could almost guarantee that he hadn't. Still, that was exactly the moment when things started to turn, just slightly, in Noctis' favor. Picking himself up from another flourish, Noctis raised his hands again and went at Tummelt with a quick flourish of punches and kicks that the other fighter didn't seem prepared for. He finished it with a punch to the face that sent Tummelt down to the ground in a heap.

Honestly, Prompto wanted to celebrate, but the look on Noctis' face wouldn't let him. Noctis looked miserable, and even more so when a chorus of jeers, of angry booing, of furious disapproval, rang out throughout the arena. It was... terrible didn't even seem adequate, honestly. What did they expect? Did they just expect Noctis to let the guy win? Tummelt had fought back just as hard, and honestly, Prompto was a little bit worried about him, too. Even as he lifted his head and slowly pushed himself into a seated position when the announcer moved to Noctis' side, he looked like he was as miserable as Noctis was.

It made total sense. Of course it did. No one here was happy. No one here _should_ have been happy. Especially since it looked like the crowd would have been perfectly satisfied if the fighters died in the ring. No one had any clue how Fortis and Furia were doing; if they were even alive. They didn't even seem to care. All that mattered was that they were entertained.

Prompto frowned as he watched the announcer raise Noctis' arm, and declare him the 'winner and still champion.' The expression on Noctis' face as the angry booing and chiding continued didn't look like a champion's, though. If Prompto hadn't been sure of his place here before? He definitely was now. That was the moment that Prompto decided not to rest, not to stop, until he found a way to get Noctis and Gladio the hell out of here. To get _everyone_ out of here, but at the very least, to get Noctis and Gladio out of here.

While they were stuck here? Prompto would make sure that Noctis still had a little bit of home with him, even if that bit of home came in the form of a best friend that he hadn't seen in three years. Turning on his heel, Prompto rushed up to the door to gather his coat and leave the arena. That mission, his determination to make sure that Noctis didn't spend all of his time suffering, started with finding Ignis and touching base with him.

Then, he had to bring what little information he _did_ have to the Nifilian police. There had to be _somebody_ there that could do something to help. Even if there wasn't... maybe one of them could lead him to where Noctis was living, so that they could talk in real privacy.


	3. Fighting For Nothing

_you've got to weigh your wars make sure_  
 _you're not fighting for nothing. nothing._  
 _are you fighting for nothing?_  
[fighting for nothing](https://open.spotify.com/track/6FXXTvfkQJpFPvtrj4cFxo) ;; meg & dia

"We don't have time to waste with rumors like this."

Rumors. Regardless of the fact that Prompto was playing his audio recording right to the man's face, and regardless of the fact that there was _hard evidence_ of something shady happening in the fighting ring, the receptionist wouldn't listen to reason. Instead, he wanted to shrug Prompto's evidence, his _legitimate_ evidence, off as a rumor. Like it was just something he'd heard on the street, something to roll his eyes at.

Prompto was frustrated. He wanted to shout at the man, to point out that these images proved that two people might have _died_ tonight. Two people might have died, and he was ready to dismiss Prompto's proof as a 'rumor.' The guy wasn't even looking up from his computer. Just clicking away, or whatever he was doing. Prompto shook his head no, lifting his phone again and displaying one of the pictures from the ring to him.

"It's not a rumor. It's true! I was there!" Once again, Prompto shook his phone, hoping that the movement of his arm would get the man's attention. "I have pictures! If you just look up..."

He didn't look up. Instead, he just rolled his eyes and focused even _harder_ on whatever task he was trying to do. If he was even _doing_ anything. Prompto couldn't tell, really, nor did he care. He cared _more_ about getting someone to listen to him. Getting someone to care at _all_ about what was happening right under their noses.

Then again, he really couldn't say that he was surprised. On his walk here, everyone else seemed pretty unconcerned about what was going on around them. He heard countless sirens on the street. Angry shouted arguments in people's dooryards. At one point, he'd almost been knocked into the street by a pair of people running. One was chasing the other, and while Prompto was _endlessly_ curious and worried about where the chase was leading them, he hadn't followed. It was hard, but he had to stay on course. He reminded himself that he had to make sure this information got to the police. Staying on task, doing his job, was the only way that he could get someone to help Noctis.

Except, that was proving untrue, too. Prompto huffed a sigh as the man shrugged his shoulders, only turning to look at Prompto when he lowered his phone and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Nothing we can do, kid. Nothing anyone in there'll tell you that I'm not, so you'd be wasting your time and theirs."

Prompto felt anger bubbling up again, and he looked around for _anyone_ walking by who might be sympathetic. There was no one, really, and it made him realize exactly how much trouble this situation was. What was he supposed to do? No one would listen, two people had been injured to the point of possible-death, and his best friend was trapped, stuck in a hell like that, with Prompto as the only way to get him out. How could he ignore that? How could he just let it go?

"Please. I won't take long, I promise! I just want to-"

The receptionist shook his head no, narrowing his eyes. "You should leave," he insisted, "before I have someone come from inside to _make_ you leave."

If that was what it took, though? Prompto honestly didn't care. He nodded his head. "Good! If you call someone from inside, maybe _they'll_ help me! Is that what you want me to do? Make a scene? 'Cause I'll make a scene!" The other people in the room, civilians and a couple of random officers who had been there the whole time, just... watched.

Officers. Just watching. Prompto wasn't sure what he expected, from a city that was composed more of cold and anger than any sort of joy and friendliness. Still, he'd hoped—maybe naively—that someone, _someone_ in this hellhole, would be willing to hear him out. As the receptionist went back to whatever he was doing before, ignoring Prompto's threat to make a scene, Prompto realized how wrong that was. Shoulders slumping, Prompto turned his head to look around at all the others in the room. Then, he turned his head back toward the receptionist, breathing in a sharp puff of breath and trying to figure out, in his head, how to make some kind of scene.

Before he could open his mouth, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back and away from the receptionist's desk. Prompto turned, hoping beyond all reason that it wasn't someone planning to arrest him. When he was faced with a woman with long, silver hair and green eyes, wearing black pants and a red button down shirt, he was worried that she _would_ arrest him, and that he'd blown his chance.

"Making a scene accomplishes nothing," she told him, her tone stern but her eyes gentle, warning.

The receptionist finally raised his eyes, looking at the woman with a shrug of his head. "About time someone got here. He's been here for about ten minutes, tryin' to make me send him into the damn station. Get rid of 'im, will you, Highwind?" he asked, waving a hand dismissively at Prompto.

Anger bubbled up again. Finally, some kind of reaction from the guy, and it was only when someone else showed up and it looked like Prompto was going to be taken away. The anger quickly morphed in his chest, turning into desperation, as he turned from the receptionist to look up at this Highwind woman with pleading eyes. Maybe he could get _her_ to listen to him. She looked stern, but she looked like she'd be more willing to listen than this clerk was, so... so, Prompto had to try. Didn't he?

When he opened his mouth, though, she leveled him with a look. A look that seemed to have some hidden meaning. It wasn't just an average glare. She wasn't yelling at him or anything, didn't seem angry. It looked like she was trying to get him to shut up. Just trying to get him to stop panicking and to allow her to handle the situation. With a _different_ look back toward the receptionist, she said, "yeah, Clark. I'll get rid of him. But you make sure you keep up your _hard work_ , won't you? 'Cause I'm not sure what we'd do without you playing all those games of solitaire."

Despite everything, it was hard for Prompto to fight off a laugh at that. Even more so when all it got was a glare and a huff of annoyance from the receptionist. Turning his attention back to the woman, he relaxed a little bit as she let go of his arm and, despite the stern expression on her face, beckoned with her head for him to follow her. She turned toward the door, then turned her attention back toward the receptionist and said, "let us in."

"What, after all that, you're just gonna let him-"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Damn right I am. Let us in, Clark," she snapped, before turning to Prompto once more. "Stay close to me in there, alright? Don't go snooping around, and try not to attract too much attention."

A bit of a weird request, since they were going into a police station, but it more or less drove the point home to Prompto that this place wasn't really friendly. Even the police station was somewhere that he couldn't make eye contact? He'd gotten that impression about the rest of the city, but the police station? He put his hands in his pockets, holding a little bit tighter than usual to his phone and following closely behind Highwind. A little bit too closely, probably, because he bumped into her a couple of times as she slowed her step. Each time, he apologized when she turned to deliver him a gentle glare.

Then, his eyes moved to look around the rest of the area surrounding him. The impression that she gave him wasn't wrong. Everyone was staring at him. Every single person seemed to have turned from what they were doing when the door opened, and noticed that Highwind had someone following her, then decided to follow them with unrelenting stares.

She led Prompto in silence. They went through the main hall, into a couple of back rooms, down another hall, and around a corner, to an office near a back exit. Through the back exit, Prompto could see a whole bunch of squad cars, as well as a back alley, and an open exit back into the main Niflheim streets. It was a little bit weird, but Prompto figured that keeping their cop cars secure probably wasn't that important. It probably should have been. He wouldn't put it past anyone here to steal a cop car.

Highwind took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door to the office—her office, Prompto could see from the lettering on the door—and let him in. She stepped in behind him, slowly closing the door and then turning around to look at him. "So, to save us both a lot of talking, Clark was right. You're not gonna get any help from anyone out there if you're trying to take that place down," she told him.

"Anyone out there..." Prompto mumbled. "Does that mean-"

Highwind clicked the lock on her door over and tried to ease her expression from one of sternness, to one of comfort. Her face was tired, though, so it fell a little bit short. "I'm not saying you should hold any illusions of being able to miraculously take the place down. It's not that simple. I've been trying for..." she paused, laughed bitterly, then mused, "almost ten years now. Made no progress at all. It's not like in the movies, kid. The place is-"

If she was going to try and explain to him what the place was like, she didn't need to. Prompto nodded. "I know. A hellhole," he insisted. "I've been there. I saw a couple of fights, and everything. It was bad."

There was more on the tip of his tongue, telling her that his best friend was being held captive there. That people might have died. That no one seemed to care. He didn't say it, though. She seemed exasperated and annoyed enough already. Making more of a big deal of it would probably only make her mad. Instead, he just trailed off, watching as she finally crossed the room to sit behind her desk. She flicked her desk lamp on, turned her computer on, and then looked up at Prompto.

"Have a seat," she told him. "First off, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Detective Aranea Highwind, and I'm probably your best shot at a sympathetic ear here."

Prompto blinked a couple of times, stepping forward and lowering himself into a chair on the other side of Aranea's desk. Finally, his hand came out of his pocket, with his phone still clutched inside, and he looked at her for a few seconds before he answered her. "I'm... I'm Prompto. Argentum. I'm a photojournalist. F-from Lucis. My publisher sent me here to do an exposé on the fighting ring." A lie. But that was the story that Cor had suggested that he give, if anyone ever asked.

It seemed like Aranea was suspicious, but she didn't say anything at first. Instead, she just nodded, and turned her office chair around, digging through a filing cabinet in the back of her office. "So, you were trying to show Clark something. Sorry about him, by the way. He wasn't wrong or anything, but he's the least tactful receptionist I've ever seen." She flipped through some files, picking one up, and then moved back over toward her computer.

Turning to glance at his phone, where the picture of the blood on the floor of the fighting ring still stood, Prompto nodded. "I took some pictures," he explained, "of the fighting ring. I got my phone in, and-"

"Show me." It wasn't a request, it was more of a command. Aranea's eyes were wide with surprise, like Prompto had just delivered her something she'd been looking for on a silver platter. "I've tried to get someone in there to get some shots for ages, but they've never been able to get a camera or _anything_ past the front door."

How had Prompto managed, then? Had they thought that the only camera he had was his actual camera? That he didn't have a phone, or something? Or had they just not checked him as thoroughly as anyone that Aranea had sent? He guessed that Aranea's people were probably composed of more detectives, and that Prompto didn't really have that 'look' about him, but that still didn't explain how he'd managed to get in with a phone. Not that he was complaining. It was how he'd managed to see Noctis again. How he'd managed to make sure that Noctis was still alive. How he'd...

Shaking his head hard to dispel those thoughts before he got too carried away, he glanced at his phone, and then at Aranea for a couple of seconds. Could he trust her? Yeah, she was saying that she wanted to take the fighting ring down and everything, but that didn't mean that she was being honest. That didn't mean that Prompto could trust her. Still, she was the friendliest face—other than Noctis—that Prompto had seen since he'd gotten here.

With that in mind, and an inward hope that he could actually trust his instinct this time, he unlocked his phone and pulled up the images of the ring. The audio of the man with the white cane was on there somewhere, too, and he would share that after she took a look at the group of photos that he got. Maybe if there was nothing worthwhile on those, she'd at least find something worthwhile in the audio.

As she scrolled through the pictures, Aranea's expression changed from shocked to even _more_ shocked, then to impressed. "I've never been able to... this is the most I..." she trailed off, gathered a cord from her desk, and plugged it into her computer.

Prompto hadn't given her permission to or anything, but honestly, the fact that she seemed so eager was a little bit heartening. The first bit of heartening anything since he got here. With that in mind, he watched carefully, nervously, hoping that she wasn't actually pretending to be interested and _deleting_ the pictures instead or something. That would be his luck. Find someone who seemed like a sympathetic ear, and they were only trying to get a look at his pictures to delete them. Taking it on faith that she wasn't, though, Prompto smoothed a hand through his hair and pointed at the phone.

"I've got an audio file on there, too. Of someone talking to one of the fighters. I didn't really get a good look at him, other than the fact that he's got red hair and uses a white cane-"

Aranea nodded. "That'd be Ardyn Izunia," she answered. "He owns the place. I've been trying for a long-ass time to find a way to take him down. So... how do you get to your audio files?" She held the phone back out to Prompto, gesturing with it vaguely.

While he flicked through his apps, he raked his teeth over his lip. "What're you gonna do with this stuff? If you guys know there's shady stuff happening there and haven't been able to do anything about it, I mean?" What difference would some pictures, and an audio file of a person whose name they already had make? That was what he was trying to ask.

Raking her teeth over her lip, Aranea murmured, "I'm honestly not sure." She turned to glance at her computer screen. "Not sure if it'll make any difference at this rate. My superiors don't like to listen, and Izunia's all buddy-buddy with the city's leadership. He makes them money with the fighters' wins and losses. The money the house gets at the end of the day."

There was obvious defeat in her tone, and Prompto sighed. Of course it would come down to that. A man who donated generously to the people in charge would always be favored. Still, maybe Prompto could be of help there. If he could send the information back to Lucis, if he could find some way to let everyone know how bad everything was—the circumstances that Lucians were being forced to live under—then there had to be something that people back at home could do, right? Cor and Mr. Caelum and Mr. Amicitia would do anything to get them all back home. Even if it meant, like...

… like what? What could actually be done? If Mr. Caelum had any idea what to do, he'd probably have done it by now, wouldn't he have? Prompto blinked hard for a second, when he realized that Aranea was looking at him expectantly. Finally, he reached the audio file he'd taken inside of the locker room and handed it over to her.

When she hit play and the man's—Ardyn Izunia's—voice filled the room, she blinked in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to glance at Prompto, and she asked, "how'd you get this?"

"I was in the locker room..." he answered.

Again, her expression froze in a completely shocked, wide-eyed gaze. "How did you get into the locker room?!" she exclaimed.

Prompto still wasn't really sure of the answer to that himself, so he simply shrugged. "Skill?" A pause. "And a lot of luck. Everyone was busy, and I snuck down into one of the doors behind stretchers as they carried, y'know, a couple of the less fortunate fighters away. The ones in the pictures..." he mumbled.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Prompto looked at her. "I can't be the first one who's tried getting back there..." he pointed out.

"You're not," she agreed. "Just the first one who's made it back and been able to walk immediately afterward. Or eat solid food. Or, you know, _breathe_." Now, her tone was sharp and serious. Like it wasn't something that she wanted to talk about.

He read it loud and clear, and he swallowed nervously. Now he understood why Noctis had rushed him so much to get him out of there. "I... I'm-"

Shaking her head, Aranea huffed a breath and pushed some of her silver hair from her face. "Don't worry about it. Just... recognize that you were _really lucky_ to make it out of there with your life, alright? Like, stupid lucky. Emphasis on the stupid. I'd tell you not to go back there again, but you got me this. And this is more than I've ever had, so..." She trailed off, glancing back down at his phone and plugging it back into her computer.

Prompto raked his teeth over his lip. "So... you can use it, then?" he asked her.

Aranea hummed. "Well, the pictures alone are enough for me to reopen the case," she admitted. "Or at the very least, enough for me to want to go back there myself. The audio file, though..." She handed Prompto's phone back over to him. "I want you to delete those, alright? I don't think it's a good idea for you to be walking around town with that stuff on your system. 'Cause who knows what people would do if they found it."

Delete it. Prompto just blinked at her. "How do I know you're not just-"

"You don't," she answered. "You're just gonna have to trust me, alright? I want to take those bastards down just as much as anyone else does, kid. I know you don't know me, and I know you have no real reason to trust me, but _trust_ me. I won't be looking into it during work hours. I do that and I'll be in deep shit. As it stands, I just sent all the stuff you showed me to my girlfriend. She's a tech specialist at the crime lab, and she'll be able to look over it. Enhance any kind of audio we need enhanced, scan the background of those photos for any kind of details we can't quite see..."

How in the world had Prompto suddenly found himself in the middle of a crime drama? It didn't matter, really, as long as somehow, he got Noctis and Gladio the hell out of here... but it was still more than he was prepared for. "Alright, I... I wasn't trying to offend you or anything," he insisted.

She shook her head. "You didn't. Here." Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a couple of business cards and handed them both over to Prompto. "One of those is for you. The other one's for you to write your number on the back of, so I can use it to call you if I find anything, alright? 'Cause when I send these to Cindy, she won't be able to look at them while we're on the clock, either."

The obvious frustration in Aranea's voice led Prompto to believe that maybe they'd both been actively banned from looking into this anymore. Either that, or they were too nervous for some sort of repercussion. Prompto understood that. He was, too. Nervous, but also ready to face it for Noctis. He took the card, and the pen that Aranea handed him next, and wrote his number on the back of the card that she gave him. It was a risk. A really big risk to give his information to someone he still wasn't _totally_ sure that he trusted. Still, the woman was the most genuine lead he'd found since arriving here. At this point, she was his best shot to save Noctis.

So, when he handed both the pen and the card with his number on it back over to her, he eyed the other card and nodded once to himself. It was okay. He _hadn't_ just made a huge mistake. That was his mantra for the moment as he typed the number into his phone so that he'd know it was her if she ever had to call him.

"Do you think you could get back there again?" Aranea asked him as she pointed at the image on her screen.

It wasn't of the locker room, but Prompto could only assume that was what she meant. Could he get back to the locker room again? Noctis hadn't seemed to think it was a good idea. If Prompto tried to get back there again, Noctis would probably be mad. Actually, he'd almost _definitely_ be mad. Still, if it was what he had to do to get help from the police? Then yeah. He'd do it. Consequences be damned.

So, he nodded in response to the question. "Yeah. Why?"

The tiny change in Aranea's expression, the fact that she went from looking dismal to, maybe, looking hopeful? That made Prompto feel a little bit better about the whole situation. So, when she nodded once and looked at him with a serious look in her eye, Prompto was listening closely, and hanging on her every word. "What I need you to do, then, is get some shots of the back area. The locker rooms, for both the Nifilian fighters and the Lucian fighters. If you can do it without getting caught, maybe even manage to snag a shot of Izunia's office. At the very least, though, the medical setup, the booths... everything you can think of. Everything you see that's photo-worthy. Cindy and me will look them over as soon as we can."

That was... a lot. Especially the part about getting a shot of that Izunia guy's office. It was probably locked, wasn't it? It wasn't like Prompto could pick locks. That didn't matter, though. It didn't matter at all. No, he couldn't pick locks _now_ , but he could learn. There were tutorials online for everything nowadays. If he looked, he could easily find out how to pick locks, and... yeah. Yeah, he could get her pictures for her.

"Alright. It might take some time, because-"

She nodded. "Yeah, absolutely. Don't try and do it all at once, okay? I would imagine that Izunia isn't in his office when the fights are happening. He likes to watch them. Likes to see people fighting for his entertainment, and all that. So, you just have to go when fights are actively happening, get the shots, and then get out before the fights are over," she pointed out.

The part of Prompto that thought that maybe this was a bad idea was easily eclipsed by the part of him that wanted to get Noctis home. So, he nodded his head and looked back at her, across the desk. "Okay. I can go tomorrow, and-"

Aranea shook her head no. "Not tomorrow," she insisted. "Big matches are once a week, Friday nights. Big matches always take a lot longer to finish than the smaller ones. The fighters are tougher. There's this one Lucian who always seems to take _forever_. Caelum," she explained. "Find out when his next match is and go that night."

Prompto's eyes were wide. Noctis. Of course Noctis' matches lasted longer. That Izunia guy told him to _make_ them last longer. He tried not to make his reaction too obvious, too visible, but he was pretty sure that he failed. "A-alright," he answered. Even if his reaction wasn't visible, the stumble in his words was more obvious than anything else. "So... Caelum's next match. Go into the locker rooms, try and get pictures of Izunia's office. I can do that." He marked each step off as a tick mark on his hands.

If his plan was to find Noctis' apartment, he could ask Noctis when his next match was. Masking it would be easy. All he would have to do would be tell Noctis that he wanted to support him. Wanted to be a voice of cheering among all the other voices in the crowd. Easy. Or, at least he hoped. Noctis always saw through lies like that, whenever he tried to tell them.

"You got it. And when you get them, send them to my cell. We'll set up a meeting after me and Cindy look them over."

After a short goodbye, during which Prompto tried to hide his reservations about this plan, Aranea directed him toward the back door to the police station, so that he didn't need to walk through the building on his own. To say that Prompto was relieved was an understatement, and as Aranea walked with him to unlock the door, then bid him farewell with an announcement of, "don't forget to send me the shots, okay?" Prompto felt a tiny flicker of hope rising up in the pit of his heart for the first time since he set foot in this town. Maybe coming here had been the right choice. Maybe he _was_ what the rest of the guys needed to get the hell out of here.

Looking around as he navigated through the parking lot, and tried to figure out where he was in relation to his apartment, he instantly regretted the fact that he hadn't asked Aranea if she could look up Noctis' address. Or if she knew where Ignis was, for that matter. He knew that Ignis ran a clinic in the city, but that didn't mean that it would be easy to _find_ the clinic. Niflheim had to have a ton of clinics, right? Or, at least it should have, with all of the crime running rampant through the city. Maybe that was too optimistic.

Prompto heaved a sigh and headed for the main road again, but before he could even make it two steps, he felt a harsh hand on his shoulder, tugging him backward. Before he could even turn to face the voice, he heard a familiar voice snapping at him. "Hey. You were at the Caelum-Tummelt match. Weren't you? The pretty boy who was cheerin' for the wrong guy."

Once again, before Prompto could reply, he felt himself being tugged backward and then slammed backward into the wall. It knocked the wind straight out of him, but he didn't really get the chance to gasp or cough before he felt an arm across his chest, shoving him backward and pinning him to the wall by his collarbone.

Dread formed a pit in his stomach, quickly replacing the hope that Aranea had helped build, as he turned around and looked up at the guy he'd just seen at the arena. The guy who seemed perfectly okay with Noct dying in the ring. 'The wrong guy.' No. That much, Prompto figured, wasn't true. Cheering for the wrong guy... well, honestly, cheering for _anyone_ wasn't wrong. That Tummelt guy looked just as miserable as Noct had, so cheering for either of them didn't really seem 'right' or 'wrong' or whatever. So, that was what Prompto returned with.

"I wasn't cheering for the wrong guy..." As much as Prompto tried to keep the anxiety from his tone, he was pretty sure that he failed miserably. His voice wobbled, shook a little bit more than he wanted it to, as he tried to wrench his coat from the man's grip.

In response, he held tighter, and the second guy—the one who'd pretty much threatened Prompto just by _existing_ , really—stood between Prompto and the exit to the main road. This fight, or non-fight, presently, was taking place right outside of the police station. Surely, someone would come out and do something, right?

As he watched the second guy pull a switchblade from his pocket, Prompto _really_ hoped that someone could hear. The second guy huffed a humorless laugh, and asked, "you a Lucian? Only ones around here who cheer for the Lucian fucks are _other_ Lucians."

Prompto probably should have lied. Or answered _somehow_ , probably. He couldn't really find the words, though. Worry about what, exactly, was going to happen from here kept him quiet. Especially given the way that the second guy gripped his coat all the tighter and then brought his other hand up to the collar to grab hold. Prompto felt his feet leave the ground, and saw the guy with the switchblade step closer... and that was when he realized exactly how much trouble he was in. That was when he realized that he might not make it out of this alive.

"He asked you a question," said Guy Number One. "Are you a Lucian?"

Before Prompto could answer, though, he heard another familiar voice from behind the second guy; the one blocking his exit out to the main street. This voice was far more welcome than the other two. Another voice that he hadn't heard in three years. "How about _you_ mind your business and _get the fuck outta here_."

Whatever else Gladio said to the other two barely even registered on Prompto's radar, honestly. Between the relief he felt that the situation was being handled, and the fact that he was seeing two more people that he had started to worry that he'd never see again? To put it simply, Prompto was a little bit overwhelmed. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Ignis was asking him questions, and that he probably should have _answered_ those questions... but at the moment, he didn't care. When Ignis turned to look at the men, and diffused the situation... that, too, was a surprise.

Prompto was sure of one thing, and that was the fact that he wasn't sure of _anything_ at the moment. For some reason, Gladio and Ignis were acting like they hated each other. For some reason, Ignis was acting way colder than Prompto ever remembered him acting before. Back home, back in Lucis, there was no way his old friend ever would've allowed anyone to get away with what he'd just let those two get away with. At first, he allowed the relief to win out. Even more so when the men who'd been attacking him darted off and out of the alleyway. Only then did Prompto completely disregard any of what he was supposed to be doing or thinking or saying—any of the protocol that Cor had given him—to throw an arm around each of his old friends and hug them tightly.

They'd probably be mad, but Prompto didn't care. "M'fine. Better now that I know that you guys're okay, too..." he murmured.

Between this, the fact that he'd actually seen Noct, and the fact that he had Aranea willing to help him? Maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to help them all the quicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've got to read [the next chapter of Morphine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800847/chapters/29332110) by [nicoleiacross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross) to know what happens after Gladio and Ignis save the day!
> 
> At least until we put our next chapters up! ;D


	4. Simmer

_what am i searching for? a light to shine again._  
 _a silent curtain, the world’s still grinning..._  
 _i need a strong arm, my friend._  
 _to keep me from simmering..._  
[simmer](https://open.spotify.com/track/3IwEu1TXhVs2qbAGekvoLP) ;; silversun pickups

This was not anything like where Prompto expected Noctis to live. Back at home, he'd lived in a studio apartment. Comfortable, happy, safe... somewhere that he could actually function. This was barely an apartment. In his periphery, he saw that one window was broken, and a second didn't close all the way. The door's lock malfunctioned, and the ceiling had so many sunken spots from the moisture of melting snow that it would be a miracle of some sort if it didn't collapse on top of Noctis one day. The perils of living on the top floor were significantly more perilous in a place like this.

Each wall was papered with ugly lime green wallpaper that was tearing in more places than Prompto could count. The floor, too, was carpeted in brown shag that was either tearing or rotting away, and Prompto couldn't help, as he looked across the room for a second time, shaking his head in disgust. It looked like one of those vintage apartments that were always mocked on TV. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he expected, after seeing what he'd seen from the outside.

What he _hadn't_ expected, though, was a miserable Noctis to be hobbling from the bathroom where he'd just gone to splash cold water on his face. It was obvious that the kick to the hip, or maybe something else in his fight, had staggered him a little bit more than he was willing to admit. He limped, stopped a couple of feet away from Prompto, and then sank down onto the couch with a deep and heaving sigh.

"I still don't know why you're here," Noctis admitted, the first words he'd spoken to Prompto since Ignis left to go to Gladio's apartment.

Prompto frowned. "You do," he answered. "You think I wanna be anywhere else when you're here? I'm only disappointed that I didn't get the chance to come here sooner."

Frowning, Noctis turned his eyes up toward the ceiling and shook his head. "That's great and all. I really do appreciate it, and... I mean, I'm not gonna lie and say that I'm not happy to see you, 'cause I am. But Prom, this place... it's not..." He paused, grunted, and adjusted his position on the couch. "You shouldn't be here." The same old words, in the same old tone.

And they got the same response from Prompto, too. "Yeah, well I am. And I'm not leaving until you can leave with me."

Before Noctis could argue with him—he could almost hear the argument on the tip of Noctis' tongue, honestly—Prompto turned and walked toward the kitchen. He wasn't Ignis in the kitchen or anything, but at the very least, he was capable of preparing dinner for his friend. Maybe for himself, too.

Of course, when he got to the kitchen, the concern on his face only grew. The whole ambiance of a seedy old apartment in a scary movie was only stronger in here. The sink was rusted, the wooden counters were chipped and the paint was coming off of them, and the kitchen table barely looked like it _belonged_ in a kitchen. Two of the legs looked like they were going to break, and the one chair in the room looked creaky and old as well. Prompto frowned, but the frown faded just slightly as he looked around at the food. Clearly, Ignis shopped for him. There was no way that Noctis would buy vegetables or fruit on his own, but there were several on the counters alone. Carrots, apples, tomatoes... all things that Noctis didn't really care to eat.

So, that was why Prompto didn't prepare those for him. Instead, he reached up over his head, searching through the tilted line of cabinets for a pan. He found one, turned toward the stove, and set to work preparing a pair of grilled cheese sandwiches for himself and Noctis. Maybe he should have been in there with his friend, but he figured that the whole conversation would have consisted of nothing but Noctis trying to talk him into leaving. And he wasn't leaving. He couldn't.

As if summoned by Prompto's thoughts, Noctis crossed the floor—Prompto could hear his hobbling footsteps, and then a shift of weight as he sank slowly into the chair next to the table—and heaved another sigh. "Prom, what are you doing?"

"Cooking?" Prompto replied, though that wasn't the question and he knew it.

Noctis huffed. "I mean, I can see that. I just... why? Why are you doing this? It's not like a single grilled cheese sandwich is gonna make this place any better, right? It's still..." He shrugged his head to the side. "I'm still stuck here, and there's no way, realistically, I can ever leave. You know? I'm stuck fighting that Tummelt guy or one of the other lightweighters until I'm free. Or, until I d-"

Turning his head sharply, Prompto shook his head no. "Don't," he insisted.

"Until I die," Noctis repeated, his voice a little bit sharper this time. "Prom, do you even realize what you've gotten yourself into here? This isn't like home, okay? This place is _bad_. It's _dangerous_. If anyone finds out why you're here, you'll be hurt. Or killed. It really isn't too late for you to just go home, you know?"

Prompto turned back to the pan, shaking his head and sighing. It was too late. It was too late the very second he saw Noctis in that locker room. The very second that he saw the conditions that Noctis was living in. Hell, it was probably too late the very second that he learned exactly what Noctis went through in this place. Noctis probably didn't understand. The fight had been kicked out of him. Not physically, obviously, if what Prompto had seen in the ring was any indication. The will to leave, though? That was gone. Noctis was going to stay here until he either freed himself or died.

Well, no. Not if Prompto had anything to say about it.

"It is," Noctis insisted. "I know you don't think so. You've always been the optimistic one between us." That was punctuated with a soft, sad laugh, as he shifted just slightly in his chair. "I know that you think you can save me. That you want to try. Can't say I wouldn't do whatever I could to do the same if our roles were reversed. But you need to realize that you can't, okay?"

Couldn't. No. No, he wasn't going to realize that. Prompto flipped the grilled cheese sandwich in the pan, letting the other side start cooking, and listening as Noctis kept talking. At the very least, this was more than he'd gotten out of Noctis in the locker room. Maybe not in a good way, but if nothing else, it was giving Prompto an idea of exactly how much work he had to do to pick his friend back up and put the fight back into him. So, he pressed the bread just slightly into the pan and shook his head no again.

Turning his head just slightly, Prompto finally replied, "I'm not going anywhere, Noct."

On the fringes of his vision, Prompto saw Noctis frown. "Should've known you'd say that," he muttered under his breath. "Can't believe Ignis didn't try and send you home, either. He knows how unsafe it is here. He..." Noctis paused, grunting in pain as he tried to adjust his position in his chair, "he knows how hard it is. How you'll always have to watch your back and everything." He could feel Noctis' eyes on him, boring into the back of his head.

"So, I watch my back," Prompto answered.

The frown was obvious in Noctis' expression when he continued. "It's not just watching your back, Prom, and you know that. If it was as simple as that, I know that Iggy would've found a way out of here by now."

Prompto almost explained that he'd already made some progress on that front, but he knew that Noctis would be furious with him if he tried. Even worse if he explained exactly what had happened with Aranea in her office. Instead, he used the advantage of having his back turned to shrug off the explanation—quite literally—and take the first grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to place on one of the paper plates sitting on Noctis' counter. Maybe he should have been more concerned about taking Noctis' kitchen over, but honestly, he figured that Ignis did the same thing all the time. He probably would have, too, if he'd stuck around.

As he turned to bring the plate to Noctis, he watched as his friend's eyes focused on plucking at a disconnected bit of plastic on the small collapsible card table that served as his kitchen table. "It's not like I _want_ you gone, Prom, okay? It's... well, okay, that's not true. I wish you'd go home, so I guess I kind of do, but... it's not like I..."

"Noct..."

Noctis kept talking, though. "It's not like I'm not happy to see you. You know? I am. I missed you. I meant it when I said that." He finally turned his head to look at Prompto. "Especially since I never thought I'd see you again. Talk about your lucky break." He chuckled awkwardly.

Again, Prompto tried to call Noctis' attention with a soft call of, "Noct..."

"But like... if it came down to a choice of you being here, or you going home and _not_ being here? Then I really would prefer that you went home. If something happened to you here and I wasn't around to do something about it, then I-"

Prompto placed his hand on Noctis' shoulder, finally gathering his attention and stopping him from talking. His expression was level, if a little bit sad and a lot concerned, as Noctis met his eye. "Noct. Listen, okay? I'm not going anywhere. I've said it a dozen times already, and I'll say it a dozen more. I'm here. I'm here to see you and to help you, and I'm not leaving without you. I don't care what happens to me."

With his eyes on the table, on his sandwich, Noctis heaved a sad sigh. "I wish you would. I do," he admitted, sliding his plate over to himself.

The smile faded, and Prompto reached his hand down to touch Noctis' hand gently. "I know you do. But Noct... not having you around the past three years has been..." Pausing, Prompto laughed a humorless note and swallowed thickly. "Really hard. Not knowing if you were alive, _thinking_ you were dead because no one would tell me if you were actually dead or not... it's been... I mean... seeing you? When I saw you in the locker room earlier, I was so relieved, dude. Like, I don't think you understand how relieved I was." He heaved a heavy sigh as he finally stepped away from Noctis to go back to the stove to finish cooking.

"I do, actually. I may not have acted it, but I felt the same way." When Prompto turned around, he saw Noctis tearing one of his sandwiches in half, plucking away at the crust on the edge before he spoke up again. "Life's always better when you're around, Prom. But life shouldn't _be_ better here."

Prompto frowned as he put a small pad of butter on the pan, then turned to glance at it. "I don't believe that, actually."

With a huff of laughter, Noctis' voice sounded almost amused. "Of course you don't," he mused around a full mouth. "S'why I need you. You always believe things are possible. You always... how do you always do that?" Even heavy and spoken around food, Noctis' emotion shone through. Or maybe that was just how well Prompto knew him.

Shrugging as he set his own sandwich into the pan, he mused, "because I think everything is possible when the two of us are together." As he spoke, he turned his head just slightly to meet Noctis' eye, to show him exactly how serious he was.

Noctis froze for a couple of seconds, staring and blinking at him, and then finally glanced back down at his sandwich. Even after those couple of seconds passed, Noctis didn't say anything, so Prompto spoke up for him. "And if you need me... please don't try and make me leave, alright? I need you, too, dude. I really need you. I missed you a lot. I don't want to leave, or be anywhere else, so... don't keep asking me to leave. 'Cause I won't. And it'll really just make us argue."

"I don't wanna argue," Noctis mumbled, his voice sad and a little bit pathetic.

Though his grilled cheese wasn't finished to his liking, Prompto turned the burner off and slid it onto his own plate. Honestly, cooking food perfectly wasn't even nearly as important as being there for Noctis right then. So, he moved over to the kitchen table and slid a chair a little bit closer to Noctis'. "Then don't," was his simple answer, and he smiled a warm smile at Noctis as he tore a bit from his sandwich and looked Noctis over. "Instead, you can talk to me. Ask me all the hundred million questions I'm sure you want to ask."

A gentle breath of laughter followed, as Noctis slowly lifted himself from the chair, grunting with every movement. Prompto reached out to help him, but he shook his head and started hobbling toward the fridge. He gathered a couple of cans from the fridge—Tenebraean beer, Prompto was pretty sure—and brought them back to the table. "Here. It tastes like crap, but it was a present from Luna, and it makes everything feel like it sucks a little bit less." His tone was probably supposed to be joking, but Prompto could hear the seriousness in it. Especially in the way he hissed in pain as he lowered himself back down to the chair.

"You didn't have to follow me in here, you know?"

Noctis shrugged. "Yeah I did," he insisted. "You think I want to be anywhere you're not, now that you're here? You're insane." Now, he was smiling a little bit.

Butterflies fluttered around in Prompto's stomach when he heard Noctis say that, and he raked his teeth over his lip. "Good. So, you can stop asking me to leave now, right?" he asked as he popped the top on the beer can and took a drink.

The only reply Noctis gave was a silent sigh as he glanced down at their plates, then back up at Prompto. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either, and Prompto figured that it was the most he was going to get at the moment. Noctis glanced over at Prompto's plate, made a face at the shape of his grilled cheese sandwich, and shook his head no. "That's not how you like it," he pointed out.

Prompto shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I just wanted to get over here quicker." To be with Noctis. It was still such a relief to have the _chance_ to be with him again, so of course Prompto was going to take it.

With a lopsided smile, Noctis glanced down at his plate and tore his sandwich in half. "Here. Mine's more to your liking, and... and I'm not really hungry, anyway. So, y'know." He pushed the plate between them, with the half he'd torn for Prompto _facing_ Prompto.

"Thanks."

Silence filled the room, and in the silence, Prompto tried to think of how, exactly, to bring Noctis up to speed on what was going on. What he'd missed since he'd been gone. There was a lot. A _lot_. So much had changed, but at the same time, so much was the same, and Prompto wished that he had a way to quickly summarize it without making it into a big thing. He stared blankly at the food in front of him, fascinated by the ridges in the bread and how they were browned on top, before he felt the familiar feeling of being watched. It wasn't the feeling of being watched that he'd felt earlier, though, when the door guard was watching him back at the arena.

This was familiar. Friendly. Noctis. Prompto looked up and caught Noctis' eye. The dark bruising around his left eye was a little bit concerning, but it made sense. Especially with what Prompto had seen earlier that day. Beyond that, though, was the familiar gray-blue that Prompto loved so much. The twinkle, though, the life and spark that had always dragged Prompto in, was almost gone. Not completely, but almost.

Noctis finally broke the silence, clearing his throat as he set his can back down on the table. "S-so, um... how's my dad?"

Swallowing thickly, Prompto shrugged his shoulder and smiled weakly. "He's okay. When he came home, after you disappeared, I always assumed he went right back to work. You know? Right back to working at the firm with Mr. Amicitia and Mr. Armaugh." He had to laugh a little bit at that. He couldn't have been more right and more wrong at the same time.

"He didn't?" Noctis asked.

Prompto shrugged. "Yes and no," he mused. "He went back. He went back to work and everything. But ever since you disappeared? They've all been using all of the firm's resources to find a way to get you and Gladio out of here. It took them three years to train Iggy enough so that he could come out here." A pause. "I didn't even know that he'd been training. I literally thought that he'd just disappeared, too. Thought that I was... Iris and me thought that we were alone." Emotion was thick in his voice, as he finally tore a piece from his sandwich and held it in his hand.

In a low voice, Noctis murmured, "I'm sorry, Prom. I wasn't trying to-"

"I know," Prompto insisted. "All you've been trying to do is keep your dad from having to fight more, right? That was what Cor told me when he asked me to come here." As much—or as little; truth be told, Prompto still had no idea if he was getting the whole story from Cor—as he'd gotten from Cor, as far as information went, a lot of it was stuff that even _Cor_ didn't seem to know.

Noctis nodded his head. "So, he's okay, then? No health issues or anything? Nothing... y'know, residual from fighting?" he asked.

Shrugging his head to the side, Prompto sighed a little bit. "I mean, he still has to use his cane. I always sort of thought that he fell or something, you know? When they weren't telling me what was going on?" When he'd had no idea of exactly what was going on here. "I had no idea that he was being forced to fight like you are. The cane makes a lot more sense now."

"Yeah," Noctis nodded. "He was a crowd favorite."

Before he could stop himself, Prompto added, "unlike you..." in a hushed tone.

With a bitter chuckle, Noctis nodded. "Yeah, they really hate me." He smoothed a hand through his hair and glanced back down at the table. "That's what happens when you rack up eighty wins in a row. There were a few times where people actually accused the owner of the ring of rigging things in my favor. A few times when I actually thought he was, too," he added, frowning. "But so far, no one's been able to prove anything." He stretched his arms a little, but winced when he stretched too far. "Doesn't stop people from hating me, though. I actually think it makes them hate me more, honestly. Like, if I'm legitimately beating their fighters? I'm even worse than if it was a cheat."

The resigned tone in Noctis' voice was painful, and before Prompto could stop himself, he reached over and placed his hand on Noctis' where it rested on the table. Battered and bruised though Noctis' hand was, it still felt mostly the same. Prompto could feel a couple of cuts under his fingers. Split skin, some scabbed over and other bits still open and likely painful under Prompto's touch. If it was, Noctis didn't stop him or pull away. Instead, he just looked at Prompto's hand for a moment, before slowly and hesitantly moving his own to lock their fingers together. That drew out the most genuine smile that Prompto had given since seeing Noctis in the locker room earlier.

Noctis, too, was smiling when he met Prompto's eyes again. The smile quickly faded, though, when he asked his next question. "So, what was Specs saying about what happened before you got here?" he questioned, lifting his drink to take another sip.

At first, Prompto didn't want to answer. He could already hear Noctis' insistence that he go home, as soon as he shared the story about the two guys in the alley outside the police station. Still, if Prompto didn't say something, there was always a chance that Ignis or Gladio would, and that probably would have made the situation all the worse. It was fine. All Prompto had to do was point out how the situation was handled. How he was okay, and how he wasn't going anywhere, no matter what Noctis said.

So, while he still had the nerve created by that thought, Prompto shrugged his head nonchalantly, and explained, "just had a bit of a scuffle. Outside the police station." No matter what, he _had_ to keep his conversation with Aranea secret from Noctis, and he had to ask Ignis to do the same.

"A scuffle." Noctis' tone was as deadpan as his face.

Prompto nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay, though."

The scowl on Noctis' face drew even tighter, as he asked, "what kind of scuffle? And with who?"

Heaving a sigh, Prompto shook his head no. "Noct, it doesn't matter, okay? It's over. Right? So..." He trailed off, because he was almost positive that Noctis wouldn't think that it was 'okay' because it was over.

In fact, it looked almost like Noctis was twice as worried—and twice as angry—as he'd been earlier. "I guess it's pointless of me to insist that this place is dangerous and ask you to go home again, isn't it?" he asked, his shoulders slumping a little bit in defeat as he glanced back down at the table.

"Yeah." Prompto nodded.

Again, each bit of Noctis' body language read 'defeat' loud and clear, and he turned his head back so that he was looking Prompto in the eye again. "Figured as much," he mumbled. "I just... Prom, if anything happened to you? Especially now that I'm seeing you again, now that you're _here_ , I'd probably lose it. I'd probably... I wouldn't know what to do, okay?"

Prompto frowned. He knew that the city wasn't safe; that there were risks. He knew that firsthand, after today. Still, "Noct. I'm okay, alright? And I can't just walk away." He wanted to promise that he'd be careful, but after his conversation with Aranea, he couldn't truly make that promise, either. Not without lying straight to Noctis' face.

Noctis went quiet once more, squeezing Prompto's hand and telling him without telling him that, despite his words, he really _didn't_ want Prompto to leave.

That was all Prompto could take. He stood up, not letting go of Noctis' hand as he did, and crossed the short distance between them in one quick step. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around Noctis' shoulders in a loose hug. Admittedly, he wanted to hug tighter. He wanted to hug so tight that Noctis would lose his breath for a few seconds. His friend was still hurt, though. Still looked sore and like he was trying to play it cool, so loose Prompto's contact remained. Still, he hugged Noctis and leaned his head against his friend's shoulder. It was stupid, the way Prompto was smacked in the head by a wave of safe and comfortable familiarity when he breathed in the scent of his friend's hair and his skin.

It was the same old cologne that he'd always used. It smelled like wintergreen and rose petals, which people always thought was a weird combination, but Prompto loved it. He'd always loved it. It felt like safety. Felt like the one person in the world who had ever made Prompto feel like he was at home.

On the other hand, Noctis held no qualms with tightening his grip around Prompto's shoulders. He clung desperately, and buried his face in the fabric of Prompto's shirt. The warmth of the embrace was almost overwhelming with how amazing it felt. Safety. Happiness. Warmth. Everything that Prompto was sure that he'd never feel again. "Don't make me walk away, Noct," Prompto murmured into his ear.

Noctis breathed in a shaky breath, and hugged Prompto tighter. Against his shoulder, he felt Noctis' answer. Though the words weren't spoken, Noctis shook his head no and breathed another shaky breath, and it was only in that moment, when he realized that it wasn't just Noctis' breath that was shaking. His whole body quivered just slightly, and Prompto could feel the wet heat of tears hitting the crook where his neck met his shoulder. Noctis slowly stood, not releasing his hold on Prompto, and Prompto used his position as an advantage to help Noctis stand.

The second that Noctis was on his feet, he leaned completely into Prompto and finally let go, dissolving into a shuddering mass of tears against Prompto's shoulder. Prompto probably should have tried to stay strong; tried to keep it together. Everything that had happened that day, though, caught up with him and mixed with the feeling of Noctis coming undone like this against his shoulder, and all of a sudden, as his hand slid gently along Noctis' back, Prompto found himself coming unglued, too. Keeping it together wasn't even in the cards. No chance. No way.

"Don't leave," Noctis mumbled into his skin. "Please don't leave me, Prompto. I... I don't know if I can do this without you here, now that you _are_ here. I..."

Prompto shook his head no against Noctis' neck, his own words coming out in a cracked mumble as he held a fistful Noctis' shirt in each hand. "Ever at your side, Noct. I won't leave. Okay? I won't leave you, ever." It would take more than a hellish city, more than a group of people who hated Lucians more than anything in the world, to get Prompto away from Noctis.

Against his shoulder, Noctis kept mumbling in a quiet voice. "I didn't know how much I needed you," he admitted. "I thought I'd be okay. Y'know? A-as long as you were safe at home, in Insomnia. As long as you were where they could never get to you. But I..." Pulling back from the embrace, he looked Prompto in the eye and smiled a bittersweet smile. "Don't think I am. Don't think I can be okay like that. Not anymore. Seeing you... it was the first time I've felt happiness since I got here. The... the first time I remembered what it feels like to think that everything can be okay."

Three years without happiness. Three years feeling like he was alone and like he couldn't deal with the world that he was forced into. Noctis had dealt with three years fighting, _literally_ fighting, winning, dealing with the worry that he would never see his home again, and he hadn't completely broken.

Prompto lifted a hand, placing his thumb underneath the non-bruised eye and wiping Noctis' tears away. "You've made it this far, Noct."

Shrugging, Noctis nodded. "Yeah. Survived. But... but maybe now that you're here, I can try living again. I mean, not _happily_. There's no way that anyone here can be really happy here. Having you around, though? It just... it makes everything seem more possible, man. Maybe that's why Cor sent you here. Like, yeah, Specs is smart and he'll be able to figure a way out of here faster than anyone else could. But you? You're like... sunshine. You're sunshine in a city that only has clouds and cold and snow. I'm... I'm sorry I tried to make you leave, Prom."

"You were only trying to protect me," Prompto insisted, very gently wiping the tears from Noctis' other eye. The fact that Noctis didn't flinch away from the touch to the bruise under his eye made Prompto sadder than it probably had any right to.

This time, the silence that surrounded them was a lot more like the old silences that they used to fall into. Prompto caught Noctis' gaze, and they looked at each other for a few long seconds. The look was familiar. Something that Prompto always saw coming from Noctis back in Insomnia, after a long night of hanging out or playing video games or just walking around the city and being together. It was warm, soft, maybe a little bit imploring, as those dark eyes searched Prompto's for _something_. Prompto looked right back at him, his eyes likely questioning, wondering what that look was for.

But then, just as quickly, Noctis' eyes flicked downward. Down to the lower half of Prompto's face. To... his lips? Was Noctis staring at Prompto's lips? Did that mean... was it possible that it meant that Noctis wanted to...

If Noctis wanted to kiss him, then he didn't even need to ask permission. In response to the gaze, Prompto raked his teeth along his lower lip and caught Noctis' eyes again. His expression was gentle, and though he wasn't exactly sure how to say 'yes' without using words, he tried his damnedest to get the point across; to tell Noctis that if he wanted to? He could do a lot more than kiss Prompto.

For a split second, it looked like Noctis read that loud and clear, because his expression changed. His eyes went a little wide with surprise, and he pulled in a sharp and short breath through his nose. Blinking twice, he cleared his throat and slowly pulled back from the hug. A few seconds after that, his expression was sad again. Like it was before they'd given in and hugged each other, and cried with each other like they always used to. He didn't look at Prompto for a couple more seconds, and maybe Prompto was going insane, but he could have sworn that he saw a dusting of red crossing Noctis' cheeks.

"S-so... where are you staying?" Noctis finally murmured, though his voice sounded more anxious than anything.

Prompto shrugged. "Nifilian Arms," he answered. The words may as well have come from nowhere, though, because Prompto's mind was still reeling, wondering if he was going insane or if they really _had_ almost kissed moments ago.

Though Noctis was still pointedly avoiding Prompto's gaze, he nodded a couple of times and smoothed a hand through his hair as he lowered himself back down into his chair. "Good. Though I'm sure Iggy's already got you looking for an apartment, huh? 'Cause... 'cause I'm sure you're not, y'know, gonna be leaving anytime soon."

With a sad chuckle, Prompto shook his head. "Not unless you leave with me," he murmured, as he settled in the chair across from Noctis.

Admittedly, Prompto was confused, especially since Noctis wouldn't look at him now, but he also wasn't sure if he wanted to draw any more attention to what had just happened. Maybe... maybe he could ask Ignis later. It wasn't like it was the first time that something like that had happened, either. Back at home, they had moments like that all the time, where they'd look at each other for way too long. Where Prompto would almost break and kiss Noctis. It was never the other way around, though. Prompto's chest still fluttered a little bit, but he finally picked his food up and tore a small piece of the sandwich.

"I can show you around town, if you want..." he suggested.

Prompto tried to think back to what Ignis said, whether it was okay for the pair of them to be seen in town together. Honestly, it probably should have mattered more than it did. At the moment, though, it only mattered enough to make him say, "long as Ignis thinks it's alright. I mean... I was cheering you on today, so as far as anyone else is aware, we could just be a fighter and a fan walking around together, right?"

Nodding, Noctis finally raised his head and met Prompto's eye again. "Yeah. And I... I mean, I don't like you walking around alone here," he admitted. "I'll feel better if we're together. I obviously can't be around all the time. Training and fights and stuff. But... I can be around sometimes. Right?" Averting his eyes, he frowned a little bit deeper.

Honestly, after what had happened earlier today, Prompto was a little bit relieved to hear Noctis say that. "As much as you want to. Maybe we can even hang together. Like, you come to my apartment when I get it, or I can come here-"

Noctis shook his head. "I'll come to you," he answered.

It was probably a good idea, truthfully. This place didn't exactly scream 'secure,' and while Prompto was pretty sure that there was nowhere _really_ secure in town, he could make his own apartment more secure than he could probably make this place, with its paper-thin walls and rotting floors. Pushing himself to his feet again, he moved toward the stove and started cleaning up after his cooking mess. Whatever happened, Prompto swore to himself that he would find a way to bring Noctis' hope back. He swore that he would find a way to pick his best friend back up, and make him feel like they would get out of this mess.

And when he had the chance, he would sneak right into Izunia's office, and find a way to take the whole operation straight down to the ground. They'd be home before they knew it. Prompto vowed as much in an internal promise to himself, to Noctis, to Gladio and Ignis and all of their friends who were stuck here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sugar frosted fluff flakes to cut the angst and tension. ;D
> 
> Don't forget to check out the latest chapter of Morphine, linked below, for the Gladnis side of the story! She's updating at the same time as I am! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://heyjealousyyy.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/lizibabbles)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Morphine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800847) by [nicoleiacross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleiacross/pseuds/nicoleiacross)




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